


Let's Skip The Part Where The Plan Fails

by my_inked_asterism



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Lydia Martin Friendship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/pseuds/my_inked_asterism
Summary: " In the past weeks, three people had died, two of the dead bodies had been found near that building and in one of the rooms above it, reserved for the clients. The news was spread all around the town the second the first body was found. Since then, the reputation of the place had lowered remarkably, the staff had been asked several times about the crimes but none of them had been able to answer the questions, looking almost oblivious of the events.  Fact that, of course, made Lydia and the whole pack even more suspicious. [...]And what better plan than throwing the two unfortunate humans into the bloody battle field, playing the detective couple in one of the most expensive and currently dangerous place in Beacon Hills?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [stydia secret santa](http://http://stydiasecretsanta.tumblr.com/)
> 
> It was supposed to be a drabble but i couldn't help the slow burn (ops).
> 
> Special thanks to Catherine ([youaretoosmart](http://youaretoosmart.tumblr.com/) /cave_canem) for the amazing beta work, thanks for taking the time to read and edit my story <3
> 
> Leave comments and kudos if you like the story, i spent a lifetime writing this while i was attending classes at uni so i really hope it can be rewarding :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Are you ready to order, sirs?”

 

The waiter appears from under the booth beside them, taking the little pad out of his pocket.

 

Lydia smiles and nods at him calmly as she closes the menu in front of her, waiting for Stiles to do the same. For his part, Stiles stutters something that results to her like an unintelligible mix of sounds, he places his own menu on the table right above the fork and clumsily hits the piece of cutlery, making it catapult down on the ground in less than five seconds.

 

The waiter still looks impassible, his forced educated smile stuck on his face while seeing the brunette boy acting like an actual dork in front of his supposed girlfriend. “Don't worry sir, i’ll bring you another one.” The man says patiently.

 

They order their meals. Stiles takes a carpaccio followed by grilled prawns in an aromatized yogurt sauce. He dares to order for Lydia too, initiative that takes her definitely by surprise since they hadn't decided it at all, but she is even more shocked when he picks the spicy ratatouille she had actually chosen herself before, and had mentioned not a word about it. To conclude, Stiles also chooses some white wine to combine with the food; she finds out his totally unexpected knowledge of wines and his (adorable) bad french pronunciation when he orders the Sauvignon Blanc du Bernardus.

 

Lydia resists from correcting him and looks away from him, hoping he hadn't noticed the way she knows she was staring at the boy. The kind of way she always does when he surprises her and lets her know him little by little in all his shades of quotidian actions that she’s not able to see as often as she would like to.

 

Feelings aside, she waits for the waiter to leave, still not before Stiles almost chokes as he tastes the wine he’s been served and finally approves it with tears in his eyes for the recent attempt of suicide. When they're left alone, Lydia kicks his shin - as is he wasn't in enough pain already- and shouts silently at him, “For the love of God, can you please act normally, Stiles? They're gonna unmask us.”

 

“I’m trying!” He yells back.

 

“Oh, are you?”

 

“Lydia i’m sorry! I’m just … uncomfortable.”

 

“Well I hadn't figured out that it could be so horrible to you to be on a date with me.” She had planned to say it in an accusatory tone but, as she speaks, she sounds more like offended than mad. Not that one rules the other out anyway.

 

“Jeez Lydia, it’s not you, it’s the plan.”

 

“What’s wrong with plan?”

 

“There’s _always_ something wrong in the plan.” Stiles sighs.

 

“Maybe with a little bit more of optimism they wouldn’t be that bad.”

 

“It’s not my pessimism that makes them bad.”

 

“Well, it’s your pessimism to get on my _nerves_ right now.” She says grinding her teeth.

 

He seems scared at her reaction and shows up his palms in surrender, “Okay, okay. I promise i’ll be a ray of sunshine from now on.”

 

But Lydia knows he’s right. A lot could go wrong on that night; they are too little informed about their actual enemy and the worst part is that she’s been sent by the pack with Stiles to that super luxurious restaurant at the mercy of a fanatic witch, who’s supposed to have committed multiple homicides as sacrifices for god knows what higher purpose.

 

She’s called Jennifer, for what they know. They had been tracking her for over a month by now, but they are still not sure of how she really looks like or what her actual role inside the restaurant is. Doubtless, something is wrong in that place; Lydia had felt it the moment she had crossed the entryway and that had been enough to confirm their hypothesis. She had felt _death_ around it.

 

In the past weeks, three people had died; two of the dead bodies had been found near that building and in one of the rooms above it, reserved for the clients. The news spread all around town the second it was found the first body. Since then, the reputation of the place had lowered remarkably and the staff had been interrogated several times  but none of them had been able to answer the questions, looking almost oblivious of the events. Fact that, of course,  made Lydia and the whole pack even more suspicious.

 

Regarding the witch, they found out her name thanks to one of Lydia’s visions, when she once pulled out on that street with her car in order to go to the mall nearby and suddenly heard the voice of a little girl crying that name—among other pleads.

 

The sharp sound of the child’s cries had echoed in her head for weeks after that day.

 

When one night Lydia woke up screaming in her bed, with tears falling down her cheeks uncontrollably and an irregular panting, she decided it was time to do something.

 

And what better plan than throwing the two unfortunate humans into the bloody battle field, playing the detective couple in one of the most expensive and currently dangerous place in Beacon Hills?

 

Okay, it's not _that_ gnarly, she's aware of that.

 

The rest of the pack had assured them the best protection. They all agreed in keeping them safe by surrounding the building and patrolling it in pairs, ready to jump at any possible threat they hear or smell from outside. Since they are were still not fully aware of the woman’s powers, everyone had decided it would’ve been wiser to all the supernatural ones to keep a distance from the crime scene, not knowing either she could be able to sense them or not.

 

And that’s why the choice had reverted on Stiles and Lydia, though she had opposed more than once with all her energies by trying to convince the pack to send Allison in her place, since she had fight skills and could use deadly weapons Lydia didn’t even know how to hand (“How am i supposed to blend in with a forty inches bow on one hand and a chinese dagger in the other one, Lydia?”), but she eventually lost the fight with her best friend and had to go. At dinner. On a date. With Stiles.

 

She’s suddenly brought back to reality by the waiter, coming with their dishes and placing the plates gently in front of them, serving the cold white wine Stiles had picked before and letting him taste it. Stiles smells the yellowish liquid in his glass, making it rotate a little before sipping it carefully and nodding to the waiter in approval.

 

When the man finally leaves with a pleased expression, she whispers him, “Since when you’ve become an expert on wine?”

 

“Never,” Stiles shrugs, “but i felt inspired by the location.”

 

Lydia represses a cackle and tears just formed in her eyes in the attempt of doing so, so she just lets out a small laugh, unable to do otherwise. As for Stiles, his eyes literally beam when he notices her reaction, causing her smile to fade slowly and looking down at her plate because it is just so _hard_ to her to hold his gaze when he’s looking at her like this, like even the only glimpse of her smile could get to make his whole day.

 

He doesn’t make her feel embarrassed, or  uncomfortable like she was used to feel with other boys. She just feels pleased and… honored, as if it was too much for her, but she still doesn’t feel like rejecting such attention.

 

They eat silently. Sometimes he makes  some stupid jokes about the swellheads sitting behind them to ease the tension, making her laugh so much her food almost goes down the wrong pipe several times. It feels normal, nice, for a while; she loves staying there with him, letting him make her laugh senselessly as he fills her glass every so often with wine, his soft gaze never leaving her face, as if he is hopelessly stuck on her beauty and being for once the gentleman she is so not used to see on him.  Every time a server approaches he stretches awkwardly one hand to grab hers, letting his thumb softly draw small circles on her knuckles when they order, but eventually he leaves her the moment the waiter fades in the crowd, disappearing from their sights.

 

A part of her, a tiny one and deeply hidden, wishes he wasn’t like this only for the play.

 

She shakes her head slightly, trying to tune out her own feelings (as if she could have some sort of control over them), and remembers the goal of their mission, “Stiles, do you see her somewhere?”

 

He seems confused at her question initially, then the same realization hits him as thunder, waking him up from a daydream and making his eyes becoming smaller a little bit - or maybe it’s only her impression - as all the joy of the moment suddenly is replaced by a sad gravity that makes Lydia almost regret of her query, for she already misses the spark of excitement in those warm brown eyes.

 

“No, no i’ve- i haven’t looked for her a lot actually.” He swallows hard, looking down and then randomly around the room in search of a hint.

 

“God, she could be anyone of those people.” She moans.

 

“Okay, wait…” Stiles pauses for a moment, his hand grabbing the chin as his brains start working in search of a solution. She can almost hear the gears moving fast in his head.

 

In the meantime, the waiter comes back to ask them if they wish something else. Lydia answers for both - Stiles is still on his planning-mode - and demands the bill.

 

“I got it!” He jumps on his chair as the waiter leaves their table.

 

“What?”

 

“I know how to find her!” He exclaims, excited. “See, each waiter has his own name written on the badge, we just need to check them all out!”

 

“Just” is definitely not the right word, since Lydia is well aware of the _hugeness_ of people working there, but having a plan is still better than nothing after all and for what it looks like, it also seems to be the only one available at the moment.

 

So they start investigating. Lydia  goes to the restroom so many times the two old ladies sitting next to them probably think she has some sort of pathological form of incontinence by now, trying to get close to the personnel and glancing at their badges, in vain.

 

For his part, Stiles stands up abruptly , almost bothered at Lydia’s failure, and heads towards the kitchen. He opens the door nonchalantly, ignoring the “employees only” giant sign on it as he gets in. Of course, it doesn’t take her much time to see him dragged out the room after the surprising time record of thirteen and half minutes, and  kicked out by the chef himself back to the hall, followed by some outrageous yellings that she gladly doesn’t get to distinguish.

  
When he gets back to sit at their table as if nothing happened Lydia shouts at him, “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“Uhm, i think it’s clear enough i tried to check the kitchen out to found the witch.”

 

Lydia rolls her eyes, “God, Stiles, you risked to get us kicked out the restaurant, you’re aware of that, right?”

 

“In that case, i would’ve put my trust in your special persuading ability to let us stay, since they were mostly men back in there.”

 

“I recall you i’m supposed to be your girlfriend.”

 

Stiles gulps slightly as she pronounces that last word, his eyes still stuck on hers without transpiring any possible feeling for her - provided that he has some- and answers simply, “ Yeah, i know.”  

 

The tension builds up again between them, and once more, Lydia feels like she’s the one to blame for that. They don’t talk for a while, nor even look at each other except for some quick glance every so often; they just eye around the people standing up and heading to the exit, ladies giggling while their gentlemen put a coat gently on their shoulders, the music of the orchestra fading in the hall as it plays the last few songs of its repertoire.

 

Suddenly, her half-bare foot accidentally brushes his ankle, skin meeting skin for a brief but somehow intense second under the table, and she automatically looks up to find him already staring at her, flushed.

  


That is just _ridiculous_ . She is Lydia Martin. She does _not_ get embarrassed, and even less turned on.  She has control over her feelings, she can _easily_ separate her own emotions from the duty.

 

Can’t she?

  
Just to avoid the —hopefully— non-rhetorical question, she decides to break the silence, “What did you say to the chefs, by the way, when you broke in the kitchen?”

 

He smiles, and the smile quickly turns into a smirk as he replies, “Told them i thought it was the men's restroom.”

  
She bursts out laughing and sees his eyes soften, the tension created before fades immediately as he joins her, his look darting from her eyes to her mouth as if he isn’t capable of deciding which one of them is the most worthy to admire while she’s smiling. So  he just keeps talking instead, and she can’t help but be glad of that, because she just loves hearing his voice; most of all, she loves how he always manages to solve everything, how he can figure out every sort of trouble so easily, from their awkwardness to the flaws in the plans.

 

As he starts speaking ill of two “brats” playing near them, Stiles rambles about children, comments on their games and compares them with his childhood’s, since being an only child forced him to play alone most of the times but also brought him to be more creative and outgoing with the other kids. He tells her about how Scott and he met each other, and she doesn’t care to stop him, despite the fact that she’s been told about it at least three times already; she lets him talk more about his family; and eventually he mentions his mother too, but Lydia doesn’t dare to ask more, limiting herself to nods and smiles. She laughs at his jokes about his father’s unhealthy habits and smiles fondly at him when he tells about the first time the Sheriff brought him to the station, or when he managed to convince Mrs. Mccall to let Scott sleep over when they were only ten years old and Scott’s parents had just divorced

.

Lydia interrupts him every so often, just to exclaim about something she used to relate with when she was a child, or to confess how much she actually remembers of the two boys when they were in the same class, while a feeling of regret makes her heart clench slightly from knowing how much she missed of those moments and how few happy memories she has of her own childhood.

 

The clock eventually strikes twelve and, under a collective threatening look of all the waiters, they stand up and head to the register to pay, their lips still curved upwards and eyes filled with tears, for once not due to pain.

 

* * *

 

The old couple in front of them emanates a sharp scent, like a mixture of caramel and roses cologne that stings his smell and almost makes his eyes water heavily as he gets closer to them when the line advances. The lady suddenly swishes her hair as she takes it all in a clip behind her head and makes a quick but complicated hairdo, creating a gust of strong perfume that causes Stiles to cough despite his attempts to not to.

 

“Stiles, _please_.” Lydia exhorts, silently annoyed, but Stiles sees she’s wincing too, and her hand goes automatically to her nose as the old lady turns around again.

  
Finally, it comes their turn and both take a step forward to the register; Stiles searches for his wallet immediately but when he gets it out, Lydia suddenly places one hand on his arm and whispers him softly, “We can share.”

  
“Lyds don’t be silly.”

 

“It’s just-” her hand unconsciously slides down to his wrist and that only one touch is enough to make his mind almost blur out completely for how warm and unexpected it is.

 

“Don’t.” Stiles interrupts her, “It’s fine, i can. Besides it’s been so long since i paid you a dinner.”

 

“You bought me pizza last weekend when i came over to study and stayed for dinner.”

 

“Pizza and junk food don’t count.”

 

She lets out a resigned laugh. “Okay, then,” she says, “thank you.”

  


His heart skips a beat. If she could only know he would rather sleep under a bridge for the rest of his life just to make her smile every day like that.

  


Just when they approach the cashier, greeting him with an educated smile, the service phone rings right next to him and he mouths a quick “excuse me” as he takes the receiver to hold the call.

  


“Hello, it’s Albert.” He pauses. “A problem at the first floor? No, _no_ , Gabrielle, I have no idea if some kids have sneaked upstairs, how could I? Yes, of course… the hall here is in control. Look, I don't know, Jennifer is the one who’s supposed to be on charge at the first floor, ask her.”

 

Stiles immediately turns to Lydia, who’s already looking at him with wide eyes, the same expression he's wearing right now at the acknowledgement of the latest news they just heard.  It's like if two little imaginary light bulbs had just appeared on their heads, kicking away all of their disappointment with one name, and it’s enough to make them believe they are, and have been, on the right path for sure all this time.

  
“I don't care if you don't find her, call Jennifer and let her deal with it, I’m busy at the moment.” And puts down the phone. “I apologize for the set back sirs. Please, table 36 right?”

 

“Yes,” they answer in unison, now excited more than ever for the new plan they had just set in their minds at the same time.

 

“It’s 123,37$ total, sirs.”

 

Stiles pays without blinking.  He still can feel Lydia’s eyes on him as he does so and her sense of guilt filtering from her look, but he tries to ignore that and instead rests his palm on the small of her back in reassurance.

 

As he gets the receipt, they share a quick knowing glance and Lydia immediately nods at his silent question.

 

“Uhm, we would like to get a room also.”

 

The cashier seems surprised at first, clearly not expecting that. “For tonight, sir?”

 

“Yes.” Stiles stays calmly, then adds,” first floor, please.”

 

The man checks immediately on the computer in front of him, typing something to show them the full list of available rooms left. “We have half second floor free. It’s lovely decorated, and there’s a small leisure place where you can stay all day long for any activity and-”

 

“We want the first floor.” Lydia states behind him. But her voice softens as she sees the scolding look on Stiles’ face. “Please?”

 

“I’d like to, miss, but see there’s only one room left at the first one and it is-”

 

“We get that.” Lydia says again with the same rudeness. The man immediately raise an eyebrow at her demanding tone and then scans them with a quizzical look.

 

“Hips juvenile arthrosis.” He blurts out suddenly, barely knowing himself what he had just said. “Very rare.”

 

The cashier, although looking more thoughtful, still doesn't seem convinced completely and purses his lips, annoyed.

 

Lydia goes past him and with a hand next her mouth whispers to the old man, “he uses them _a lot_ , you know.”

 

If the human body was a good combustible, Stiles thinks his would probably spurt out flames everywhere at that moment. He feels his face flushing heavily and the cashier’s isn't any better, clearly embarrassed at Lydia's implication as much as Stiles is. Lydia on her part looks simply satisfied of the effect of her words, and smirks happily at him, shrugging slightly when she notices Stiles’ uncomfort.

  
“We- we have the lift. Two lifts a floor actually.” He stutters, but still slightly less sweaty than a few minutes before.

 

“I’m claustrophobic.” Lydia says, matter-of-factly.

 

“Sirs, there’s only one double room left at first floor and it’s right next to the staff’s storage.”

 

“It’s perfect!” Stiles shouts way too excited.

 

“My boyfriend,” Lydia says calmly, embracing his arm with both her hands, “just wanted to say that’s it’s not gonna be a problem at all, and that we can deal with that. And we thank you so much for your kindness and availability. You’ve been incredibly helpful.” She finally flutters her eyelashes one more time to the now shocked man and takes the keys from his hand, keeping the eye contact and turning around just at the very last second with a wavy movement of her hips, pulling Stiles behind her by his hand and heading to their new room.

 

The small suit is pretty, even though not as big as the other rooms as the cashier said. The high walls are decorated with soft palette colors, and the ceiling shows some beautiful floral motives on a surprising relaxing light blue background. The peonies on the central coffee table have a bluish and white shade as well, making the whole bedroom a little cozier.

 

At the moment though, not a even a field of peonies could possibly make Stiles cozy. He hadn't thought straight before, he hadn't really  thought about the very consequences of sharing a room with Lydia. A bedroom. He had been too focused on Jennifer and excited as well for the  new chance of stopping the witch to analyze the actual situation.

 

Which is _terrifying_.

 

And he can see the panic slowly rising in Lydia’s eyes too as they pass the doorway and stare at the bed in front of them, as it is  some sort of bad spirit.

 

“I- I’m sleeping in the armchair.” He offers, glancing at the big and upholstered recliner next to the bed.

 

She keeps staring at him thoughtfully for a while, then nods, looking away for him and placing her stuff on the bed.

 

He’s actually glad she didn't protest or anything, for it would have turned the whole thing even more awkward than what it already is and, the less you talk about it, the better is.

 

She starts taking out the purse a toothbrush, climbing off of her french stilettos and heading barefoot to the bathroom.

 

“Why do you have a toothbrush in your bag?”

 

Lydia shrugs, “I always bring a toothbrush with me. You know, for any eventuality.”

 

“Oh,” he says, not even that surprised, “right … I have to go buy one, though, there’s a drug store just around the corner . I’ll be back in ten.”

 

“Okay. I’ll take a shower in the meantime.” She smiles, as if there isn’t anything hot at all in that.

 

Well maybe there _isn't_ , unless you're hopelessly in love and uncontrollably turned on at everything concerning Lydia Martin and her body.

 

They say goodbye before he has time to flush again, and gets out.

 

He comes back after a while. All the groceries and drug stores nearby closed already, so it takes him longer than planned to to find one and get all the stuff. He buys  an extra large shirt for Lydia too, so that she can be comfortable and warm during the night.

 

When he opens the door he finds all the lights off and Lydia already under the sheets. Her long hair is spread all over the pillow, falling as a strawberry blonde cascade on her back as she rests her head on her crossed arms, laying on her stomach and breathing slowly, calmly, as he never heard her before when awake.

 

He stays there watching her for what  seems like an eternity to him, mesmerized by every detail of that stunning picture, unable to move away yet too soon.

 

The white duvet of the bed is covering her almost completely, leaving out of it only a few inches of her bare shoulders constellated by tiny freckles that blend into the red of her locks. She isn’t wearing any make-up, her lips slightly parted as she lets out small regular breaths, her skin seems softer and candid as if she can almost sparkle into the darkness of the room for how pure she looks.

 

Eventually, he looks away with a sigh and goes to the bathroom to change, putting on the shirt he had bought for himself and keeping the same pants before sending a quick text to Scott and the rest of the pack to inform them of the last news, telling them they would stay there for the night in order to trap the witch.

 

He falls asleep at around 1am with the last image of Lydia’s smile on her lips as he slides a strawberry blonde lock out of her cheek, where his hand accidentally lingers a minute longer than what it’s allowed to.

 

* * *

 

A lonely, bright ray of sunshine filters from the rosy curtain of the bedroom, causing Lydia to wake up as it crosses her face. She stretches a hand to the other side of bed instinctively, expecting to find something more than the cold material of the sheets. As she slips her hand to the pillow next to her, she meets no warm body nor messy and sticky hair; she feels something else instead and when she finally opens her eyes Lydia glimpses a soft navy t-shirt in her fist. That’s when she realizes that she had actually slept almost naked last night. Lydia had tried to fall asleep with her bra on but eventually she had found herself unbuckling it during the night, bothered and uncomfortable with that restriction.

 

She turns around to check the room. Stiles is sleeping on the armchair, as he said he would; his limbs are scattered and tangled on the back of the seat, lying upside down with one hand on his lap and the other one brushing the floor with his fingertips. He’s wearing the same black pants of the other night and a t-shirt identical to hers but colored with a soft shade orange. Lydia watches back the navy garment in her hand, her eyes soften at the memory of the first time he told her the meaning of those colors and smiles tenderly at the boy, letting out a silent laugh as she puts it on quickly before Stiles can see her.  

 

Which actually almost happens; she has just finished adjusting the shirt on her waist when Stiles suddenly emits a groan and his eyes slowly flutter opened, confused at first and still sleepy.

 

“Good morning princess,” she says with a grin when Stiles falls down in his attempt to spin around.

 

“‘Morning.” He mutters.

  
Lydia laughs at his usual clumsiness and without thinking too much, still sleepy as well, she climbs off the bed to head toward the bathroom, going past Stiles as she walks by. It takes her about four seconds and Stiles’ not-so-subtle gasp to realize she’s still wearing only her panties underneath.

 

She turns around automatically only to catch Stiles’ wide eyes looking up back at her face but he isn’t fast enough to hide what they were actually staring before, as he shakes his head and closes his mouth so rapidly she thinks he has just broken his jaw in the process.

 

Stiles sits awkwardly on the parquet, his eyes flick up to hers, then lets them drift lazily down to her bare legs before setting back again on her now flushed face. She feels naked, exposed but still not embarrassed, not that much to let her run away in shame anyway. Her heart is beating faster and faster in her chest as she watches his eyes darting from her body to her eyes, but still, she doesn’t move, her feet grounded at the floor as if a tiny yet not too deep part inside her forced her to stay in front him, the curiosity of his reaction suddenly overcoming any other feeling.

 

Finally, after swallowing twice, he breaks the silence, “ You- the shirt- it looks good on you.” He stutters.

  


Lydia laughs and smiles softly at him, “It’s just a t-shirt, Stiles.”

 

“Well, you look beautiful.”

 

He isn’t joking. His eyes hold so much fondness and awe as he says so Lydia feels her knees going weak all of sudden, her glance softens and answers, “Thank you. And thanks for buying it.”

 

“No problem.” He gets up and stares at her for a little while before adding, “I gotta go call Scott to let him know the last details, then we can set up a plan if you’re okay.”

 

“Yes! Yeah it’s perfect, i go, uhm,  get dressed.”

 

When she’s back in their room she finds Stiles laying on the bed and his back rested on the headboard as he types frantically at his phone, now wearing the white shirt he was wearing at dinner with the sleeves tucked up to the elbows and the collar unbuttoned just enough to show his thick collarbones.

 

“Oh, hi.” He says when he sees her coming back in her salmon dress.

 

“Hi.” She sits on the edge on the bed next to him and Stiles makes her room, “So, what do we do now?”

 

“Okay, i’ve talked about it with Scott and we’ve agreed on waiting for the evening to spring into action since it’s the only part of the day when there’s only the staff around, people won’t be at the restaurant downstairs and only few will be in the rooms. We thought at evening everyone will be out probably… so, Scott said the staff room has like a small terrace that overlooks on the street, just like ours. I’ve seen it from outside before and it’s right next to our balcony, like just a three feet or so away and-”

 

“Don’t even think about it.”

 

“Lydia-” he tries.

 

“No, no way. You’re gonna smash on the ground.”

  
“Okay, first of all i’m really glad you have faith in my athletic skills, thanks a lot,” Lydia rolls her eyes, “second,” he continues, “we’re at the _first_ floor, Lydia. It’s not that dangerous. It must be like, i don’t know, thirteen feet above the ground.”

 

“My dad once broke two ribs by falling from _ten_.”

 

“You never told me! How did it happen?”

 

“Stiles!” She exclaims exasperated.

 

“Okay okay. Listen, i swear it’s gonna be fine. I just have to climb over the terrace and then the deed is done.”

 

“Okay, let’s say you do it,” she says reluctantly, “how are you even gonna do to trap her if you’re alone?”

 

“With this.” He takes a small pack out of his pocket, a purplish black powder shining from the white-transparent lacy material.

 

“Mountain ash.”

 

“Yep.” He states, “I’m gonna put some on the edge of the balcony while you’re gonna lock the door, this way she won’t have any way out, but at the same time if there are other people inside they can go past the mountain ash and be protected by it.”

 

That is a good plan, she has to admit. But they knew so little about that woman, except for all the people she supposedly murdered, that even a tiny mistake, an irrelevant detail, can turn  the whole mission into a suicide. What if she can pass through the mountain ash? What if Stiles falls? Or if he gets hurt?

 

“Stiles… you really need to promise me you will be careful.” Her grave tone seems to surprise him a little, and his eyes relax, his expression becoming calmer as he replies.

 

“I will.” Then, unexpectedly, he gets closer  and unfolds her in his arms. It takes a moment to her to hug him back, tightly yet not too much, as if wanting to keep it soft and tender, nothing too desperate or passionate for otherwise they would ruin everything. She rests her head on his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of his clothes mixed with the gel left in his hair. He slides one hand on her back, tangling the other one in her hair while she feels the warmth and softness of his lips lightly brushing her temple.

 

Whatever that hug is for, either to shut her up or to calm her down, it definitely works for both of those. She is peaceful, relaxed with a weird but familiar feeling of warmth inside her.

 

Eventually they pull apart, and she smiles fondly at him, because that's what Lydia Martin does. She trusts him and she cares about him, more than what she’ll ever be able to admit maybe.

 

“Okay then?” He asks gently, still close to her even though without touching her anymore.

 

“Okay.”

 

They text Scott and Allison to keep them updated, then move downstairs to eat something at the restaurant and stay there for a while, talking, laughing, acting like the couple that they are not even when there’s no audience to assist the show.

 

Maybe they just do it because it feels normal sometimes, maybe because at the end of the day, it’s not even that different from how they act on daily basis around each other.

 

**\---**

 

“You ready?”  Lydia asks him.

 

“Yep, Spider-Man is coming.”

 

“Stiles, I swear to god if you get hurt I-”

 

“You what?” He smirks.

 

Lydia pursues her lips in challenge; there's worry in her eyes but she tries to not let it show it “I’m gonna kill you myself once for all, you idiot. Now hurry up.”

 

Stiles sneers but doesn’t protest. Instead he gives her one quick kiss on the forehead before climbing on the balustrade of the small terrace with one leg. He is soon straddling the railing, stretching with both his arms to the other edge moving simultaneously his legs, and immediately places one foot on their railing and the other one in  the small space on the extremity of the staff’s balcony. He remains immobile for a few seconds to contemplate the most convenient step to do but Lydia can see a light shudder pass through his back as he starts moving again.

 

The feelings of helplessness and angst slowly consume her as she stands there without being able to do anything but watch Stiles cross the space between the two railings with a sudden jump. When he gets to the other side, his feet stumble a little initially, backing only a few inches;  Lydia can only gasp loudly and grab onto the cold iron as she leans over as much as she can.

 

For his part, his grip tightens his grip too, a rivulet of cold sweat falling down his temple as he regains

equilibrium and steadies himself. With one stride he’s already on the other balcony, climbing off the railing with a small leap, and turns around to glance back at her.

 

Stiles finds her eyes immediately. Her look of concern matching perfectly with her shaking hands, her knuckles turned white from the strength  of her grasp, and her shaking hands betray the attempt of a reassurance look on her face. He smiles softly at her, trying to convince her to hope for the best without words. Eventually, Lydia feels her body relaxing just a little when she gets lost in the amber of Stiles’ eyes, as she always does when she finds herself staring at him so deeply and fondly. He seems to wanting tell her something because for a  moment his brows furrow slightly, as if he was struggling with something inside him, but he gives up and finally grins at her. Lydia nods in a silent response.

 

With her permission, he gets in.

 

* * *

 

He wanted to tell her. He had been _so_ close.

 

If he's going to die without Lydia Martin knowing that he’s hopelessly, irrevocably, madly in love with her, he’s gonna regret this day for the rest of his afterlife.

 

The storage closet is way bigger than it seemed to be from outside and darker than what he had imagined it to be. Indeed, one lonely bulb lamp on the ceiling provides the necessary light, making the room bright enough to glimpse all the messy shelves, the several lockers and armchairs reserved to the personal, which makes the place more labyrinth-y and cluttered than what it already is.

 

Stiles takes a step forward to explore the room, silent at first.

 

The shadows on the floor create a creepy effect when they reflect all around the walls, forming weird and exaggerated figures on them as the light strikes some piece of furniture every so often.

 

He is absorbed in those irregular curves when a sudden, sharp noise comes out from the other side and wakes him up from his imagination, shivering for the first time at the realization of a possible face-to-face with a pluri homicidal supernatural creature.  

 

Then, the sharp echo of a scream slowly fades away in the air, followed by a smash of the door he recognizes as the one of the closet where he is. Stiles hears the unmistakable steps of high heels running away with so much hurry it makes him wanting to leave immediately, even if it means risking again to splatter against the ground.

 

Billion of thoughts cross his mind at the moment and among all of those, the one that worries him the most is Lydia’s safety. If she is already out of their room…

  


But he hadn't heard her voice nor other steps except for the moves of the girl running. The only thought of Lydia being in danger, being _her_ the one screaming and suffering like a prey in trap, makes him almost panic, his body paralyzing for a few seconds at the flashback of Lydia's blood on his hands.

 

He _can't_ let it happen again.

 

He takes out the tiny pocket of mountain ash and holds it tightly in one hand as he keeps going.

 

Then the glimpse of something, _someone_ , not a girl but definitely human-like, standing at the corner of the door while closing it gently, trying clearly not to make a sound, catches his attention.

 

She’s small, and thin, with the cleaning ladies’ usual black and white dress . But the wide neckline on the back reveals her skin, showing the little space of the crook of her neck. It’s  too pale to be human, too wrinkled for a girl, with definitely too many scars to be still alive.

 

When the thing turns around, all he can focus on is her deformed face and the fangs in her mouth.

 

* * *

 

 Lydia hears the scream the moment she’s about to get the door opened. Her hand freezes on the knob at the sound of it; the horror in the girl’s voice causes her heart to pound even faster in her chest, and it only gets worse when she acknowledges the origin of that shriek.

 

Without realizing, she’s already out in the hallway of the floor heading to the storage closet. Lydia tries to overhear something through the mahogany  door but all she can get is the pure silence.

 

Stiles had ordered her not to move. She had promised him to stay behind the door, had promised to stay on watch, make sure the door kept being locked. But her hands are shaking, her forehead’s covered with cold sweat and she can't stand the anguish and the panic rising all of sudden in her stomach, knowing the boy she’s in love with is trapped with a terrifying witch that had probably just tried to kill the umpteenth person.

 

Her gaze is suddenly caught by a bright spot on the floor and her eyes widen at once. The dark red of the fluid create a stark contrast on the parquet and the more she stares at it the more she feels sick, nausea rising imminent in her.

 

Those few drops of blood and the memory of Stiles screaming her name to save her life (she still can't tell if it's real or not) forces her to turn the knob down and enter the room.

  


Lydia had prepared herself for a lot of things, knowing the plan could go wrong in so many ways.

 

But when you break _directly_ in the fight, without expecting that at all, it’s really hard to stay calm.

 

No one seems to notice her presence when she crosses the threshold, which she’s glad of, since it lets  her study the situation carefully, even though Lydia's struggling to understand what it’s actually going on there.

 

Everything happens fast, _too_ fast.

 

She sees a woman that she recognizes as Jennifer immediately when she spots the several scars and wrinkles all over her body, a deformed and contorted body that can only belong to something supernatural. And she’s punching Stiles on the face, pushing him backwards to the window. Lydia’s heart goes cold, her mouth covered with both hands as Stiles tries to stick to their plan and spill the mountain ash on the doorway of the balcony, but Jennifer is faster. With one powerful blow, Stiles is soon out of the way, knocked into the iron railing from where he had come before, and slowly flops down, strengthless, inert.

 

“STILES!”

 

Her voice is trembling as she screams his name, unable to contain her fears any more. She tries to reach for him, almost forgetting about the presence of the witch right in front of her; the urge of knowing if he’s safe suddenly overcomes any other feeling.

 

She stops her way to him when Jennifer turns around to eye Lydia. Her face ironically reminds her of an ugly halloween mask somehow. Her eyes are not aligned, and one is bigger than the other, the mouth is reduced to a thin oblique line which reaches the cheekbone - or what it’s left of it- with one corner. Her eyes, spectral like a blind person’s, sparks with a dangerous light as they scan her wildly.

 

Then, Lydia suddenly glimpses Stiles’ figure standing up slowly from the ground with a dazed expression on his face. His eyes blink several times before finally finding hers through the glass of the window and widening in dread, visibly scared for her, now locked in a room with that horrid creature.

 

She’s still staring at Stiles, completely awake by now, when she feels razor-like nails plunging in her neck and a cold, sharp piece of metal gets to rest abruptly on her ribcage, right above the exposed flesh that her dress shows through the tiny geometrical figures on both her sides. Lydia sighs loudly at the sensation of the small blade pressed against her skin, and eyes flutter in pain a little when she feels one drop of hot blood travelling down her waist.

 

“Just in time for the third sacrifice.” Jennifer whispers in her ear. The gruff voice of the woman makes her panic at once and she tries with one last attempt to wiggle out of her grip, in vain.

  
Stiles is hitting the glass violently, his body shaking in fear and pure desperation more and more at every blow he gives to the window, trying to break it and save her life just one more time even if that meant being covered of cuts and scars forever.

 

Lydia gawks at him, motionless and breathless as the claws soon penetrate deeper in her throat, tightening the grasp on her at the same time and causing her to gasp despairingly for air. She tries to focus on Stiles, on her name on his lips that seem silent from where she is but that Lydia knows he’s actually shouting like he probably never did before.  She focuses on the pulsing vein on his neck, beating from rage. Beating for her.  She wonders how it would feel like under her lips.

  


Her sight has just started blackening when the witch’s body falls on her, pushing her down on her knees automatically, unable to sustain the burden of that dead weight on her shoulders. Lydia leans onto the floor supporting herself with one hand as she reaches her throat instinctively with the other, brushing her fingers above the painful wounds on her neck. Good, more scars to add to the list.

 

Behind her someone is talking. She heard a terrifying shriek of Jennifer before turning silent once for all, but she’s too obvious and fuzzy to get the cause of that exorcism.

 

Then, two gentle arms sling at her torso tenderly, embracing her fully so she gets to rest her head on the shoulder, finally letting out some tears of relief mixed with the side effects of the almost-panic attack she had been on the edge of just minutes before. The stinging smell of blood is immediately replaced with a delicious and soft scent of roses and lilacs.

 

“Lydia it’s okay. I’m here, _we_ are here. Lydia i’m so sorry, I thought it was too late, I thought-” Allison is crying too as she hugs Lydia tightly, pressing her head on her chest as if to shield her best friend from any other monster. “You're safe. It’s okay.” She keeps whispering. Lydia hugs her back in an instant, finding comfort in Allison’s low whispers like in  a lullaby, adjusting her body so that she can hug  her tighter and ignoring the ache on her spine at the new bad angle.

 

From behind Allison’s shoulder, Lydia catches sight of Scott slamming the window getting opened with a slam by Scott, his claws shearing through the white wooden boards as he forces them to unlock. He reaches for Stiles at once but the brunette boy is already inside, heading towards Lydia, who in the meantime had stood up with Allison help and had taken the first step in his direction, tracing his features with teary eyes as if she hadn't seen him for ages.

 

She soon gets balance and her legs start moving automatically, faster and faster and she’s running. When she stops, she’s in his arms already, and he’s holding her tight, embracing her completely and lifting her off a little with his  enthusiasm. Lydia wraps her arms around his neck in response, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She suddenly feels tears running down her collarbone so she pulls apart to look at him, to see him good and safe.

 

But as she disentangles from him, Stiles interjects her immediately and presses his lips on hers. His hand moves from her shoulder and cups her jaw, pulling her closer to him as the other slips slightly under the hem of her dress, just enough to let him brush his fingertips on her skin. Just enough to let him feel her warm, that she’s alive.

 

Lydia doesn't hesitate too long. Her eyes shutter close at the feeling of his soft lips; she tilts her head to deepen the kiss, opening  his mouth with her tongue and craving more of that, everything that he can give her, she wants it all. Their tongues meet and she’s exploring his mouth and he’s bitting her lower lip and it’s passionate and desperate, it’s all the fear and relief of the past hour turned into love.

 

“Uhm, did we miss something?” She hears Allison say from behind. Lydia can't see her friend but can tell she’s wearing a wide smirk on her face for the tone of her question.

 

“I thought they were _faking_ …” Scott whispers to his girlfriend.

 

Eventually they separate, eyes still closed and bated breath, their chests moving up and down in sync, and she swears she can feel his heart pounding by simply pressing  against his chest. He gives her a chaste kiss on the lips and then another one on her forehead before cupping her cheeks with both hands, caressing her face with his thumbs a gawking at her in awe, “You’re okay.” He breathes out.

 

She nods, unable to form any logical sentence yet. The taste of his lips still lingers on hers as she licks them quickly and it’s driving her crazy; she just wants to drag him out and having him all for her. She wants him so bad.

 

When they turn around to face their friends, they Scott and Allison smiling softly, maybe too proudly too, at them and by seeing all that scenario, Jennifer seems already nothing but one more nightmare to forget.

 

Breaking the peaceful silence, Stiles suddenly sneezes, making Lydia jump slightly at his side.

 

“What was that?” She asks quizzically.

 

“Nothing.”

 

And sneezes again.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles has almost finished the last pack of tissues when Lydia gets back to their bedroom, bringing a hot cup of tea and gently placing it on the bedside table as she sits next to him on  the bed.

 

They had decided to spend one more night in the hotel room since Stiles had come down with a bad cold in the end, and Lydia needed to clean up as soon as possible, and let the smell of blood wash away. Once she had taken a shower and disinfected her cuts with the first-aid  kit in the bathroom, Lydia started taking care of Stiles. She put him under the sheets against his protests and went to the drug store nearby to buy him a syrup or some pills to help him.

  
  
It’s just a common cold and she’s not really worried, Stiles knows it. She just needs something to keep her busy, busy for _him_ , anything that can make her feel any less guilty for not having stuck with the plan as he had told her to, she wants to keep him safe and be his comfort.

 

He can see all of this in her eyes as they move nervously from the ground to his face just to look back down again away from his eyes, but Lydia still stretches one hand to hold his shyly as she adjusts herself on his side, getting slightly closer.

 

Stiles keeps staring at her anyway, knowing she can feel his eyes on her as they were scanning her figure with just one glance, and as much as she tries, Lydia eventually holds her head up and finally emerald meets gold, now feeling just a little different when he contemplates the idea that, maybe for the first time, those sparkly green eyes could be staring at him with the same intensity he’s been looking at her for years.

 

“Hi.” He says softly. He takes her hand in his and starts rubbing circles with his thumb along the plam, up to the sensitive spot on her inner wrist.

 

“Hi,” she whispers. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Uhm, sleepy. I guess it’s due to the pills.”

 

“Maybe,” Lydia says skeptically, “or maybe because last night you’ve slept for six hours, if we’re being optimistic, and in the past few hours you’ve risked your life at least twice. That can be pretty stressful too sometimes.”

 

She’s grinning now, as if she wanted to ease the tension, but she just reminds him of what _she_ actually went through because of her suicidal nerve, “Lydia. You could’ve died.”

 

His suddenly serious tone makes her smile disappear and for a while she doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at him, frowning.

 

“I was worried.”

 

“I had specifically  told you not to get inside. For any reason.”

 

“She could’ve killed you, Stiles!”

 

“And she almost killed you too!”

 

“And we’re both still alive, see? Teamwork.” She states playfully, but letting him get that she got the point and that, however, there is no winner in that battle. They’re Stiles and Lydia, that’s what they do. They protect each other, no matter what the cost is.

  
Without realizing Stiles’ hand has slid up to rest on her neck, forcing her to come closer as she leans into that touch, grabbing his hand and moving it to her cheek.

 

Lydia closes the dìstance and kisses him full on his mouth for the second time that day. Their lips collide, moving in sync as tongues explore each other's mouths, tilting their heads more, eager to taste the other.  It’s brief but intense, and they pull apart, shock and awe both reflected in their eyes as they gawk at each other, noses still almost brushing.

 

“I’m infecting you,” he smirks, his eyes beaming.

 

“I want it all.” Lydia responds way too fast, breathlessly.

 

“You do?” Stiles is not sure if they’re still talking about his bug.

 

The look in her eyes is wild but passionate as well, holding so much love and lust for a while Stiles thinks she really could feel as much for him.

 

“I do.” She breaths out as to answer his mental question, stroking his cheek with her soft hand and leaning again to catch his lips.

 

A moment later Lydia’s crawling into his lap, the sheets around her waist as she rides Stiles with his hands on her hips, guiding her thrusts and travelling all over her body to memorize every atom of her with his touch. He moves his hands along her sides, lingering on her breasts and watching her with fluttering eyes tower over him as a goddess. She's just craving it, craving to be learnt by heart by his fingers.

 

They waited _so_ damn long Lydia's now crying of joy on Stiles’ neck, collapsed on his sweaty chest where he’s pressing her tightly, his big arms completely folding around her tiny torso.

 

He brushes her back with his fingertips, drawing abstract figures on her shoulder blades as he cuddles her in the darkness, until eventually they fall asleep in each other’s arms with the melodious sound of two thudding hearts, beating as one in the silence of the room.

 

When they wake up the following morning, they’re still there and nothing has changed —it wasn't a dream. He’s not upside down in the armchair and she’s not freezing on one side of the bed, but they’re indeed tangled together on the middle of the mattress, making out and smiling happily at each other as they spin around once, twice… so many times they’ve become the engine of the world.

 

He’s kissing her scars and she’s kissing his moles, and after all, he thinks, in the end at least one plan had worked.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [lydias-martin ](http://lydias-martin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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